A Night in the Opera House
by TheGirlByTheWall
Summary: Since Christine was a child, she has been comforted by her angel of music. When she is captured and taken beneath the Palais Garnier, she begins to fall in love with her angel from childhood. Erik becomes more and more distressed, causing him to debate confessing himself to her. Told in multiple points of view, this is the story from the other side of the mirror.
1. A New Home

**Chapter 1**

**A New Home**

**Notes:** Hello everyone, and welcome to A Night in the Opera House. Starting on 11/08/16, I will try to update regularly - I am shooting for every Saturday, though chapter 7 should be coming out earlier this week. Reviews are welcome, and I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters or story for the Phantom of the Opera, but the fanfiction below is from my imagination.

A young girl craned her head upwards to take in the looming building. Her chestnut curls bounced along her back as she walked at a brisk pace to an enormous stone staircase. Her youthful face drew down into a frown, with her eyebrows shifted together, creasing her forehead.

"Madame Giry?" The girl whirled her head around as she said this, searching for the stranger that whisked her away from her home. Her gray dress hung from her bony frame, and the skirts flew up with her sudden movement.

"Yes, Christine. Follow me." Madame Giry said. Her tone was that of the exhausted part. Christine noted her raven black dress was fitted tightly around her waist, expanding outward from her hips down. Madame Giry started climbing the steps, and Christine followed. Giry had her graying light brown hair tucked into a bun, not a strand out of line.

The doors to the building were made of solid oak, and they swung open with an undeniable grace. Christine marveled at them, and was almost left behind before the woman with the bun shouted for her from the inside.

"Christine, welcome to the Palais Garnier." Madame Giry said. "Your new home."

Erik watched from behind a painting as a girl came into the opera house. He gasped in surprise when he saw her, but quickly recovered and chided himself for his mistake. No one seemed to notice his obnoxious sound. The woman in black that worked in the opera house talked to the brown-haired girl about the history of the large building. When the girl left the room, Eric silently slid down the wall behind him. He look around himself. _This is no place for me to live_, he thought to himself. Inside the wall, the dank ceiling was low, almost to the point where he could touch it with his hand. The walls were a dark, washed out gray, and the smell of mildew was almost too much for him to bear.

"But similar to what I said earlier Christine, if you wish to leave once you come to the age of eighteen, you are allowed." Erik faintly heard the woman say. He stood up, and looked through a small hole embedded into the wall and through the painting. He watched the girl's delicate movements. She wore a plain gray dress, with no embellishments. Her light brown eyes scanned the room, and it locked on the painting that he looked through. Automatically, his hand flew to his face to cover it, forgetting for a second that she could not see him. Her full lips were a plush pink, complimenting her graceful cheekbones. Ringlets cascaded down her shoulders to mid-back. His lips slightly parted, and he immediately had the urge to talk to her. Before he could, he tore himself away from the hole, and took off running through the small space.

After descending several staircases and ramps, Erik found came to a lone boat floating in gray murky water. He took a long paddle and started repeating the motion of raising and moving the paddle through the water, and eventually came into a small clearing. Music sheets were spread near and far, and a lone organ stood in all of its majesty in a far corner of his so-called "room".

Erik exited the boat, and immediately after stepping foot on ground, a wave of exhaustion settled over him like clouds on a stormy day. He walked through the stone cavern coming to a translucent midnight blue curtain. He reached his hand out and drew it back, revealing a circular bed shallowly sitting on the ground. Erik's heart filled with a sadness, and a longing that he could not place as he slipped out of his ratty shoes and hopped into the bed. He covered himself with a single frayed blanket he stole from the freak show. He curled up in it, shivering slightly, and while he slowly drifted off to sleep, laughter filled his head. He saw himself in a cage, his music sheets covering the ground, lastly - before he slipped away into oblivion - he saw the girl in the gray dress, with the chestnut ringlets, and her delicate walk. _Christine_, he thought. He heard a haunting melody before everything went black.

After wandering for a few days in the Palais Garnier, Christine decided that she should stay in her room. She rather liked it, and appreciated how the soft pinks of the walls blended effortlessly with the white colours of her bed. A full length mirror stood in the corner of the room against the wall, and on most days she would stare at herself in it, just to see her father in some parts of her face. Today, however, she recognized that her heart was filled with grief. She thought about her father, before he died. His face was a pale sickly colour, and his clothes stuck to him with sweat and dirt.

"Christine, I am not leaving you." He told her. "I will come back to guide you. I will not leave you alone. You must continue to sing Christine. I will help you. I will be your angel of music." The last words barely escaped his lips before his bony hand that had been gripping hers so tightly went slack.

As she cried and screamed, her maid Veronica took her to another room while the doctors removed his body. Veronica held her close, and slowly, Christine's gasps and cries became only faint whispers, cutting through the silence of the stale air.

Christine did not like to think of that moment too much. Although it had happened recently, the memory always led her to break down sobbing. Angel of music? She always thought. What does that mean? But today, she decided to pray instead of let sorrow control her.

"Father, I miss you dearly, and do not know what to do since you are gone. Please, help me. Be…" she hesitated for a second before continuing. "Be my angel of music." Her last words resonated through the quietness of the room.

Erik waited for Christine to continue with her prayer, but she never did. He felt a great sadness for her, one he did not understand. He watched her sheepishly stand up and go to lie down on her bed, throwing her hands over her eyes. She sobbed, crying out to anyone, pleading for them to help her. Erik wanted to jump right through the wall - to hug her and tell her that it would be alright. He was unfamiliar with these feelings, but he felt them all of the same.

He listened to her whimper for a while before coming to a decision- a risky one, no doubt. He moved to a patch of wall where he could not see her but he could hear her whimpers become louder. He placed his hand on the wall and spoke.

"Christine…" Erik said in the most soothing voice he could muster, but it cracked on the way out. He shifted, and cleared his throat. He heard Christine sit up rapidly.

"Who is there?" She strained. He voice was shaken with fear.

"Do not be afraid. It is your father."

"Father? Is that really you?" Her voice was so filled with hope that he felt the smallest amount of guilt for lying to her like this.

"Yes. I am your father. I told you I would come back to you. I love you. I am your angel of music."


	2. Angel

**Chapter 2**

**Angel**

**Notes: **Hello again, everyone! Before I upload chapter 7, I am doing grammar checks for chapters 1-6. I am hoping to upload a new cover photo for the story, but my computer is having some problems, and all of my pictures are gone (Ahhhh!). Meanwhile, reviews are welcome, and enjoy chapter 2!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or story for Phantom of the Opera, but the fan fiction below is from my imagination.

-_Five years later_-

Christine was singing to herself in her bedroom, her soft melody caressing the stillness in the air. Erik was crouched on the other side of the wall beside her large vanity, his thin hand pressed flat against the rough wall. As much as Erik wanted to see to Christine, he refrained, only because of his face. A draft swept through the stale crevice, making him shudder. He wrapped his arms around himself, locking his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering.

"Angel?" Christine spoke in a hesitant voice. Erik snapped out of his daze, his back straightening.

"Wonderful, wonderful. I am very pleased with you today, Christine." He said.

"Thank you." He could hear her smile as she talked.

Erik desired more than anything to talk to Christine, but he stopped himself. "I must leave you now. I shall come tomorrow at this time. Until then, practice. Goodbye."

"Goodbye…" She said sadly. Erik felt smug. He could make Christine sad at his departure. Could any other man do that for her? But, he knew that she believed that he was her father. She did not miss him for who he was.

Erik climbed a narrow ladder into the rafts of the building. Looking upwards, he remembered carving the tunnels from the stone itself. After years of strenuous work, he could travel anywhere in the expansive area. As Erik crawled through the dark space, he heard various voices underneath him.

"First performance…"

"Is… ready?"

"How… _I_… know?"

Erik chuckled to himself at this argument. Debienne and Poligny were never men that lived in harmony, especially when it came to scheduling and performing the operas. He slid towards the conversation in hope to hear more.

"… Two days. They are arriving in two days?" He heard Poligny say.

"Yes." Debienne replied, and paused for a moment. "I am terribly sorry I did not inform you sooner. You seemed...indisposed. You did, after all, have to wrap up a few financial matters concerning your daughter's wedding, did you not?"

"Regardless, why don't we schedule this for next month? I do feel as though something will go terribly wrong if we up and leave so soon."

"No, we will welcome them, and then leave. I don't know what you plan to do in retirement, but I want to travel the world. See different places, go to world fairs, and so on."

Erik scrambled backwards to get out of the rafts at a startling speed. They were _leaving?_ Why, of all months, why of all _years?_ His mind immediately flew to Christine. _No. _He thought. _She is almost ready to sing onstage. You cannot take this away from her now._ Small dew drops of sweat formed above his brow. He crawled for a some time to another ladder leading to the roof, and climbed without hesitation.

When standing on the roof, a chill swept down his back. The crisp air raced over his cheeks. His obsidian hair fell in waves across his forehead, and he quickly swept it away. His hand clenched into a fist, and he shouted out in bitter rage.

"Augh!" He shouted, his voice hoarse. A gentle snowfall began to set a blanket over the roof of the opera house, dusting everything in white. Erik kicked and punched a stone lion that overlooked the streets below. He made no progress, striking the statue until his suit pants were ripped and slit at the seams, and his knuckles were bloody. He cursed, and tossed his head back to stifle a cry. Tears etched their way down his face, out of his startlingly green eyes.

When Erik rose again, he wiped his sleeve over his face, and started humming a song of sorrow. The humming soon turned to singing, and soon his crystal cut voice ripped through the night. He only stopped when he heard a voice crying out in the streets below. "Come out! Who are you, with a voice like an angel? Show yourself!"

Erik shrank back against the lion and climbed around it, the rough surface scraping his wounded legs and hands. He winced, but continued to head further back from the edge of the roof, reeling into the night.

Christine left her room after the angel of music departed. No matter how long she had been in the opera house, she consistently became astonished at the gilded statues and floors. Elegance swept through all of the aspects of the Palais Garnier, from the white marble columns, to the beautifully arched ceilings, painted cherubs shooting darts at the common passerby below.

"Christine!" A woman's voice shouted. Christine immediately recognized it as Madame Giry.

"Yes!" Christine yelled back. She knew she should not act so impolite and unladylike by raising her voice, but she could not help herself. Old habits were not easily broken.

Madame Giry stepped around the corner dressed in a wave of midnight blue. "I have someone that I would like you to meet." With that, another girl - a bit older than Christine - walked out past Madame Giry, who continued talking. "This is Carlotta. She is…" She gave Christine a sad look. "She is the new Prima Donna of the Palais Garnier."

The girl smiled at Christine. Dressed entirely in pink, she spared Christine's eyes no mercy in wearing a fuchsia shawl that was snugly fit around her shoulders. She held her hand out, adorned with jeweled rings on each finger. They shook their hands, Carlotta's grip quite dainty. "Hello." She purred, the sweetness in her voice dripping off of her words.

When she moved, her dress pushed up her chest, making Christine boggle at the amount of chest revealed. _How on _earth _could she leave the house wearing that?_ Christine thought. "I am honored to meet you." Christine forced. Carlotta's eyes shot arrows at her.

"Ladies, I must leave." Madame Giry turned to Carlotta. "I shall see to it that your dressing room fits your tastes." With that, she turned a corner and disappeared.

When Christine looked back to the other girl, a scowl had already settled on Carlotta's face. "Mark my words, _girl._ You get in my way, and things will not go well for you." She growled.

Christine's eyes widened. Carlotta spun on her heel and strides off, leaving Christine standing in the hallway. Tears beat at the back of her eyes, but she would not let herself cry. With sheer determination, she vowed that she would become the best singer she could possibly be for her father, and herself. She would practice until her voice broke.

With that thought, she turned and ran towards her room to pray to her angel.


	3. A New Chance

**Chapter 3**

**A New Chance**

**Notes: **Hello everyone, once again! I am halfway done with grammar checks, and soon I will upload chapter 7. Feel free to review, and I hope everyone is enjoying the story! Here is chapter 3...

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, story, or songs for Phantom of the Opera, but the fan fiction below is my imagination.

Christine trailed behind the other ballerinas, and waited in line to chalk her slippers. They all began to scurry into position, Christine taking her time to see the opera owners dressed to the teeth in furs. A new face caught her eye, with brunette hair and amber eyes. He looked to be about her age, with a strong jaw and neat suit. He scanned the crowd, skipping over her face. Her breath caught with a strange wistfulness watching him, perplexing her.

When the dance started, she was lost in her movements, and the movements of those around her. She could hear Armand and Firmin talking to the man, introducing the separate departments of the opera house to him. She continued to dance, not letting anything disturb her in the slightest. When the dance stopped, she stood to meet the young man's gaze. He held a vexed look on his face, starting a twinging in her chest when her looked her straight in the eye.

"May I have everyone's attention!" Armand yelled over the bustling crowd. "We have someone to introduce to you! This is the very generous sponsor of the opera house. The Vicomte de Chagny."

Christine started. Armand continued to speak, rattling on about the honor of the Vicomte's arrival, though she wasn't paying attention. She recognized the last name immediately. The scarf by the sea. Raoul. A smile twitched at the edges of her mouth. Raoul had a light smile on his face, and he surveyed the room once more before he set his eyes on Carlotta. Firmin introduced her as the Prima Donna, while Carlotta held her hand out. Raoul took her hand in his, and feathered a kiss in the top of it. He then stood and bid farewell, before walking behind the stage to exit the theater. A light blush dusted Christine's cheeks when he walked by her, but his eyes were set forward. She watched him leave, only turning back to the stage when music struck again to cue Carlotta's singing, a wrenched feeling clinging to her chest.

Carlotta's shrieks invaded Erik's eardrums, and he scowled. Three weeks. Three weeks of this obscene singer screeching to hit notes, when Christine could float on top of them. "Wait." He had told her. "Do not show your talent yet. You have almost met perfection." He ground his teeth at the very thought. Christine was so close, and now the new Prima Donna of the Palais Garnier had out of tune ballads clawing their way up her throat. As soon as Erik's lips began to curl into a sneer, the dancers came on stage, Christine among them. He made a choked sound, and leaned forward from his hidden cove above the chandelier in order to get a full view of the ballet.

Christine was beautiful. She lifted her arms in first position, and led the other ballerinas in a flurry of movement. Her dark curls swung with each action that she made. She whirled and spun in complete unison with the others before ending in a graceful pose on the ground. He resisted the urge to bring his hands together to clap.

Armand Moncharmin's voice cut through a moment of silence. "Now, you must know, it is an honour for Monsieur Firmin and I to be here. However, we must make a few changes. We shall be cutting a portion of the ballet pieces in exchange for a ballad and another chorus piece featuring our new Prima Donna." Erik stiffened. The announcement was followed by a murmur of complaint that spread furiously through the dancers. As Armand continued, Erik stood, and travelled down a short set of stairs to come upon a large mess of decaying boards suspended by chains making up the catwalk. He nimbly traveled across one, with only the occasional creak of protest made by the chains, the only clue he was ever there. When Erik saw Joseph Buquet, he crouched low to the planks, and began to crawl. Joseph surveyed the area, putting his hands on his hips before striding off.

Erik stood yet again, before coming to a position directly above the mass of people onstage, and could hear the piano start to play. Before Carlotta and her insufferable vibrato began to sing, Erik swept his eyes over the area to see that Christine was a safe distance away. She was watching the back of the stage, but for what reason, he could not say. Once he was certain she was clear, he took a knife from his boot and sawed through a coarse rope holding up a massive backdrop used for a ballad. He could hear Carlotta start to make noise, and anger through him. The rope cut clean, and the backdrop began to swing to the ground. A girl screamed, however, Carlotta continued to sing, possibly becoming aggravated that a chorus girl would dare usurp her spotlight. When the backdrop was a few feet from her head, she looked up, her face going blank. Erik was sure her heard a strangled whimper leave her throat. Her dress tangled around her legs as she started to dive forward, the large structure crashing down on her waist. _If only you would have stood right under it,_ Erik thought. A blow that massive to the head would have hurt her. He smiled, thinking of Carlotta's blood pooling on the stage's floor. With a fan of his cape, he jumped up higher into the catwalk, and disappeared, dropping a letter behind him as he fled into the opera house.

Carlotta screeched at the top of her lungs. Christine backed up a number of steps, hearing portions of the other ballerinas conversations. "It's the Phantom." She heard numerous times. A blond dancer she had befriended, Meg, was enthusiastically adding conspiracies to the growing pile of rumours surrounding the Opera Ghost.

"Get this… this _thing_ off of me!" Carlotta yelled. Christine turned to see Madame Giry carrying a letter to Armand and Firmin, while several brawny men and women lifted the backdrop, letting Carlotta wriggle out of the bottom. She stood, patted off her skirt, and paced to Armand. "I am _through _with this! You find another Prima Donna, because I am not staying!" Her accent became more apparent as she grew more and more agitated.

Christine turned to Meg. "Do you think the Phantom actually did that? It could have been a faulty rope."

Meg looked at her. "Of _course_ he did it. There's no possibility of anyone being stealthy enough to climb through the rafters without Joseph seeing it." Christine watched Carlotta storm off the stage in an array of orange, red, and gold. Madame Giry walked stiffly up to the owners, and opened the note. She read it aloud.

"_His _opera house?" Armand said furtively.

A small time later Firmin also jumped in, taking the note from Madame Giry. "_Twenty thousand francs?_ Well, I will see to it that none of this happens. It is not _his _anything!" Firmin ripped the note in half, then in half again.

"We have a sold out gala. How could we possibly save our reputations if we have to refund a full house?" Armand said. His tone was exasperated, and he dragged a hand down his face.

Christine was wondering where Raoul had gone when she heard Madame Giry talk in an even tone. "Christine Daae is willing to sing, Monsieur's." Christine flinched, and looked towards them.

Firmin paused. "_Her_? She is nothing more than a chorus girl."

"She has been taking lessons from an esteemed vocal teacher."

Armand and Firmin turned to her. "What is his name?"

Christine cleared her throat. "I do not know, Monsieur." She replied weakly. _My Angel of Music, _she had wanted to say, but she held back, afraid of sounding ridiculous.

Madame Giry cut in. "Let her sing. Anything will do." She was stone, staring at the directors. They looked back, Firmin letting his gaze drop first in defeat, followed close by Armand.

"I suppose she could try." Armand dictated. He stared at Christine, and swept his hand to motion her to step forward. Christine swallowed and obeyed. The music began to play, and her hands began to tremble. She heard Armand talk softly but firmly to Firmin on the side. "Really Firmin, I don't think that this is quite the solu-" He was cut off when Christine began to sing.

"_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…"_

She saw out of the corner of her eye the other dancers and singers creeping onto stage to get a better view of who was singing. Armand and Firmin stood with their jaws slack.

"_Remember me,_

_Once and awhile, please promise me you'll try…"_

With each verse of the song, Christine grew more and more confident, and walked downstage. She was again lost, also found, in the music. When the peak of the song came forth, she threw herself into it, and ended strongly, gingerly lifting her tone to reach the high note. When she finished, she turned to the opera directors. They looked as though they were still transfixed on her singing, blankly staring through her. Firmin shook his head a small matter.

"Armand," Firmin said softly. "I believe we have discovered our new Prima Donna."


	4. Little Lotte

**Chapter 4**

**Little Lotte**

**Notes: **Hello! A few things: 1) This chapter is very short - sorry about that, the next few are, but chapter 7 should be longer. 2) I don't _complete_ly despise Raoul, and that is why I am having him give Erik a run for his money. Feel free to leave a review, and enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or story for Phantom of the Opera, but the fan fiction below is from my imagination.

Christine frowned, jerking the bust of her dress upwards, the crystals in her hair swinging. She had admired the snow white gown on the mannequin, yet upon slipping it on, she discovered the neckline plunged far too low for her liking. She now stood on the edge of the stage, waiting for her cue to enter. Raoul sat in box five, easily viewable from the wings. She knew that Raoul could not see her from his seat, but when his stare travelled her direction, she flushed deeply and ducked behind the curtains.

When the orchestra played their final note of the balle, Christine walked slowly to the center of the stage, hands shaking. The torchlights blinded her, and she blinked several times. The conductor of the orchestra lifted his hands, prepared to start. She nodded discreetly at him. When she first began to sing, Christine could feel the notes clawing their way out of her throat, eager to escape the nerves massing in her chest. She looked at the chandelier then, thinking of her angel, and how he would protect her. Her voice sounded as tranquil as wind chimes in the spring. Several people in the front row closed their eyes, the edges of their mouths on the verge of a smile. She didn't dare look at Raoul, for she would have surely choked on her notes. She looked straight ahead, and, as the curtains fell after the last chord of her song, Christine smiled. She was certain that she heard the joyous laughter of her angel, hidden in the abandoned corners of the opera house.

Backstage was chaos. People pushed and shoved each other in the narrow gaps between the stage and dressing rooms. "Bravo!" Many people had said to her. The crowd parted when they laid eyes on her gown, a shining beacon amidst the unorganized maze of souls. She nodded to them politely, but strided to her private chambers. Immediately when reaching it, she slipped through the door, thanking her admirers who held bouquets of roses in their hands. When the door was shut, she let out a breath of air. Twisting her torso, she unbuttoned her dress, letting it slip off of her to expose her corset and chemise.

Her cot was the only sight in the world she would have wanted to see. However, the moment she collapsed to the mattress, a soft knock resounded through the room. "Angel?" She asked.

A figure glided through a narrow gap between her doors. "Little Lotte." A smirk hovered over his lips. She stiffened for a moment before turning to the figure.

"Raoul."


	5. The Phantom of the Opera

**Chapter 5**

**The Phantom of the Opera**

**Notes:** Good day everyone, and here is chapter 5! Nothing new to tell you guys, so enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters, songs, or story for Phantom of the Opera (but I absolutely wish I did), but the fan fiction below is from my imagination.

Raoul smiled at her, a dark look in his amber eyes casting shadows across his face. His lips softly tilted at the ends. He walked towards her, and Christine felt a moment of unease. When he took a moment's pause to look around, Christine stood up to gain distance between them. "Christine." He said softly. "You sang beautifully."

Christine yelped, and jerked her head down to see nothing but her corset and chemise. She scrambled for her robe on her bed, and shoved her hands into the sleeves. Her hands were clumsy tying the cord around her waist. Raoul stepped forward, his fingers reaching out and quickly tying the knot, still smiling. Her neck began to heat. "Thank you."

He went on. "I have not been back for some time. I studied abroad in Russia and Egypt before deciding to return to France."

Christine nodded, only staring at him. "Why did you want to come back?"

He sighed and looked around the room. "I grew homesick. Surely you would be able to identify with this?"

Christine stiffened only a little, but enough to make him notice. He smirked. "How have you been?" Raoul asked after a stretch of silence. She sat at her vanity to brush her hair.

"I have been well. And you?"

"Very well." He scrutinized her with his expression, eyes boring into hers. She looked away, hearing him chuckle. There was more silence. "Let's go out, and become reaquainted."

Christine spun around. "No Raoul! I cannot."

"Why ever not?"

"I have an engagement with… another."

His easy smile transferred to a deep frown. "Another man? Christine, have you forgotten me so easily?"

"Not another man." She stated. "I am meeting Meg Giry within the coming hour."

"She will not mind. I shall send someone to her with a message that you are indisposed."

Christine looked desperately over his shoulder. She realized she was losing the battle. "I do not wish to go tonight. Please, may we go tomorrow?"

Raoul walked forward and grabbed her hands. "Come out with me tonight. I have missed you." He leaned forward. Christine slipped her hands out of his and turned her back.

"Alright. I shall go. Give me a quarter hour."

Raoul nodded, and departed. He smiled once more. She pressed her hands to her cheeks to cool them down, and began to take her hair down from its pins. She did not hear the noises until the last lock of hair fell from the top of her head, and hung down her back. Then a whispering flowed into her ears. It was gibberish at first. "Christine…" Christine spun around. She knew the voice. On the vanity, something new was on the table. A red rose lay in perfect ordinance, with a midnight ribbon tied around the stem. She looked to the ceiling, expecting to see a hole. A cherub stared back, untouched. "You would miss our lesson for an ignorant fool such as that?"

She dropped the rose on the floor, the ribbon fluttering upon impact. Her lower lip trembled. "I would never. Please forgive me, Angel!"

He sang to her then. "_Flattering child, you shall know me, see how in shadow I hide…" _Christine looked wildly around for him. "_Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside." _ With that line, she flung her head around to see the mirror.

She almost cried out when she saw him at last. His black hair was combed back, with a few stray pieces falling over his forehead. He stepped forward, his face coming into the light. Green eyes overcame features meant to intimidate one who was not prepared. Yet, covering the right side of his face, laid a white mask devoid of expression. It made her curious. She turned and walked forward towards him without being aware of doing so. He smiled, an altogether frightening event. He reached a gloved hand out to her. "_I am your angel of music. Come to your angel of music." _He repeated those words as she walked forward. He almost looked as though he did not want her to be frightened.

"_I am your angel of music. Come to me, angel of music._"

She slid her hand into his, and held it with a strong grip. He smiled again, with a certain gleam in his eyes. Music started and she faintly heard the mirror swing shut behind them.

Erik grasped Christine's hand with questionable intentions. It was warm, and when he looked back at her, her eyelids hung in a state of euphoria. He tightened his hand. Turning around, he scowled. How could he have taken her through the mirror? He shook his head. Looking back to her, she began to sing to him. His breath hitched. He knew why he brought her.

She looked at him, and began to sing. "_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name." _He stared at her, transfixed. "_And do I dream again for now I find. The Phantom of the Opera is there… inside my mind."_

His gaze held hers, and he was unable to look away. His mouth moved on its own accord. "_Sing once again with me, our strange duet."_ He ached with the want of hearing her sing. It almost crippled him. "_My power over you, grows stronger yet."_ Her eyes flicked away from him for only a moment, but he could see the fear that seeped into them from her mind. He held her chin between his fingers lightly, and tugged it back to face him. "_And though you turn from me, to glance behind. The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind."_

They continued to sing until they reached a low sitting boat in a shallow stream. He pulled her close to hold her hips. She sang to him still while her lowered her down into the vessel. He savored the moment of being close to her for a short second on the boat before seating her, and picked up a paddle. He always thought of this misty place as home, seeing as though he had never had an actual home other than the traveling circus. The memories that transpired from that were not pleasant in the slightest, but he could not preside over that line of thought for long with Christine singing a string of high notes to him. He looked at her. She was intoxicating to hear.

"_Sing, my angel of music!"_ He said to her. She sang higher. Each time he said the phrase, she expanded her range until hitting a note with perfect clarity that others would screech. When she finished, her trance was over, and she must have realized she was not in her dressing room. She looked back at him, eyelashes fluttering.

She may not have known, yet while he was her angel of music, she was his savior.


	6. The Cave

**Chapter 6**

**The Cave**

**Notes:** Alright! Chapter 6, here we go! Chapter 7 will be uploaded either today or tomorrow... so be prepared!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or story from Phantom of the Opera (I absolutely wish I did, though), but the fan ficiton below is from my imagination.

Raoul grew more and more concerned when Christine did not answer the door immediately. He slammed his hand against the frame. "Christine! Open the door - _please_!" He tried to look through the keyhole to no avail, and heard a voice that did not belong to Christine. She was making no noise. "_Christine!_" He shouted, and threw his shoulder against the doorframe. "Oh, God." The room was silent. He frantically jammed his shoulder into the door. It broke open. He looked around the room as fast as his head was able to swivel on his neck. No one was in her dressing room.

Before he turned to fetch the guards, an object crunched under his foot. He picked it up. A battered rose lay in his hands, but what was peculiar was a black ribbon laced around the stem. He wrapped it in his handkerchief before sprinting out of the room.

Erik watched Christine sleep for the first hour. He had showed her a statue of her likeness, and as though the sandman struck her with his own hand, she toppled into his arms. He had already arranged her hair on the feather pillow, and gently rested on her forehead a dampened strip of linen. He brushed his hands over her exquisite brow, and placed his hand on her cheek. He spoke to her. "You are my everything, Christine. Your voice was not the first thing that led me to find you." It was confusing, he knew - but she was not conscious enough to hear him, and therefore it did not matter how poorly he expressed his feelings.

Eventually he rose, and went to his organ. He still marveled at it from time to time, when he thought about how he got it down in the cave in the first place. Every piece separated from themselves, brought in large segments on his boat, and rebuilt in the place of his choosing. He was naturally able to build instruments with a certain grace that few others could achieve. Because of that, he completed his "project" in only a week, when it would take others a solid month or more.

He sat down on a worn but sturdy mahogany bench, and flexed his fingers. He checked his music, immediately after diving into a piece he worked on at the time. His fingers hit each chord with precision. It had such a calming effect on him. With music, he was never able to keep track of the time, and would play hours before finally floating to the surface of consciousness. He was in complete bliss, too in the moment to realize Christine had woken up.

There were some type of gauzy curtains hanging above Christine's head. She fumbled her hands over the bed she slept in, and immediately began to panic when she did not recognize it. Springing to sit bolt upright, she looked around the room she was in hastily. It was generally dark, with no distinguishable shapes. Christine looked back in her memory, and only remembered a few things. A memory of her mirror, a cruel face, a boat with fog drifting over the bow, and a mask. These pictures disturbed her. It was only when she really woke up that she heard the music. There were more curtains, then she was able to really see her surroundings - a cave. Her eyes wandered over the various gaps in rock, and landed on a man. She exhaled sharply. The one with menacing expressions. She was not sure if she was scared by him, or angry.

He did not turn around when she walked up behind him. "You kidnapped me." She stated. He did not stop playing, but simply lightly touched the keys, quiet enough for her to hear the pads of his finger tips drumming against the ivory.

"You willingly followed me." She could hear his smirk, and was thrown back by his melodic voice.

Christine scowled. "I do not remember doing such a thing. How do I know that you are not lying?" She paused, waiting for his answer. When he gave her none, she took a step forward. "Answer me."

The man ceased to play. He tapped on the organ, thinking. He waited for a few second before seeming to come to a decision. He stood, and met her gaze. She watched him, hearing her heartbeat in her ears. He was no less intimidating. His eyes pierced hers, and his mouth was smiling on one side. The mask she saw gave him an eery look. He then held his hand out. She took a step forward, but stopped. "That, I think, proves my point."

His voice set something off inside of her. She remembered more of the night before. He was singing to her about the Angel of Music. _He _was the Angel. "Oh, my God. You -" Christine began to cry. "My angel! Forgive me!" She expected a ghost of some sort when her father told her of the angel so many years ago. But when he stepped forward as she was toppling towards the ground, and embraced her, he was as solid as she. He smelled a bit of lavender, just as the cave did. "Do not play games with me." She murmured into his chest.

"Christine, there is nothing to forgive. You are permitted to do whatever you please here." With one arm held firmly around her waist, he let his other hand gesture around the cave. Christine looked up at him, and he was suddenly beautiful, as if the look on his face was the only thing keeping an ugly distance between them. She now saw the mask was heavenly as well, making him as though he were partially made of porcelain. She smiled at him, and looked around the cave.

She did not hear his next words, already in a complete state of bliss. "This is your new home."


	7. Confession

**Chapter 7**

**Confession**

**Notes:** Here it is - chapter 7! Feel free to leave a review on if any of you would prefer to have longer or shorted chapters - I am keeping them around 1200 words each. I hope you all enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters or story from Phantom of the Opera (though I wish I did!), but the fan fiction below is from my imagination.

Erik listened behind a painting, just as he had when Christine first arrived at the opera house. He was seething in rage just listening to the fools jabbering to each other about the loss in their investment.

"You didn't conduct a full scale operation to find her, yet? How much time do you think we have, Firmin?" Armand asked his companion. "Our next performance is in three weeks, and we have done _no_ rehearsing because not only did Carlotta quit, but Christine is now missing!"

"I have already contacted the authorities." Firmin shouted. "They said there were no signs of struggle, and it was as if she _up and left like a damn ghost!_" Erik heard a heavy crack echo through the room. He focused on the scene before him. Firmin clutched at his cheek, staring at Armand in shock.

"Contain yourself." Armand hissed. "You never know when someone will hear you. What will happen then? Another refund and a soiled reputation of not treating the Prima Donnas well? We cannot have a single other soul knowing that we have lost two girls in the course of a month."

Erik watched them and listened for more, but all Firmin did was nod and stride off. Armand followed close behind, and they each disappeared down separate hallways. Erik sighed, and stood up, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the shallow ceiling. In his grip were five letters, each addressed and ready to appear in separate rooms. He looked down at the cracked parchment sealed with red wax. Soon enough he would have to buy a new supply, but the sheer thought of leaving the opera house to interact with others made him freeze up. No matter how he situated the hood on his cloak, he could not hide his mask. It drew unwanted attention from the authorities.

He silently padded through the corridors, slipping the notes under doors, and over ledges into dressing rooms. Four were delivered, yet one he still held in his hand. _Carlotta_, the note read. He had tracked down where she was residing in Firmin's office. When he read the address, he groaned. The most heavily populated area in Paris.

Erik now had replaced his white mask with a worn slab of leather he haphazardly tied around half of his face and around his head. A knife was sheathed at his side. He drew his hood forward, making it shadow his face. He sat atop a midnight horse, one that he did not own, but visited often enough in the stables to become familiar. With a short command for the stallion, he rode off into the night, his cape snapping at the air behind him.

Christine had been waiting for her angel to return since she woke. She had heard the soft splashes of water late at night as he departed, and she did not hear him come back. She left her bed, and, for the first time, inspected the cave. Handwritten music sheets were strewn about on the floor, on plush velvet seats, and on the organ. She picked one up. She did not know how to play any instrument other than a bit on the violin that her father had taught her, but due to her knowledge in singing, she could make out a haunting melody. _Did my angel create these songs himself?_ Christine thought. She tried humming the tune of the song, seeing that there were lyrics written on the bottom of each line of notes. She began to sing softly.

She continued to meander, stopping once she saw a cabinet on the far side of the wall. When she opened it, she saw suits, shoes, and other ordinary things. But, one thing in particular caught her attention. The base board for the dresser had chipped in one corner, but instead of looking to the floor of the cave, she saw darkness. She took the shoes from the bottom of the dresser out, and gingerly lifted the corner. It moved willingly. After she placed the board beside her on the ground, she turned back, and gasped. Several masks were strewn about the bottom portion of the cabinet, including the ivory white mask. She picked it up and flipped it over. She couldn't determine what it was made of, but it was most certainly the mask he had been wearing yesterday. She set it down, and looked at the others. A black one lined in velvet, a cheap looking cotton strip of fabric. One caught her attention. The top half of a skull. Christine shivered for a moment. _What could he possibly need this mask for?_

She felt around the bottom again, and felt something soft. She lifted it out onto the floor in front of her. A monkey holding the cymbals stared ahead at nothing. It was eery. She spun it around to wind it, and listened. The song that came from it was sad and nostalgic. It made Christine wistful, and she automatically thought of her childhood with her father. Memories swirled lazily around her head. Memories of her father playing violin for her, teaching her the basics of singing, taking her to the sea. Tears came out of her eyes and trickle down her face. She didn't realize she was crying until her face felt cold, and she reached to touch her wet cheeks. She stowed the monkey and mask, and put everything back into place before starting to wander back to her room.

She started humming his song again. "Do you like that song?" Someone whispered into her ear. She jumped and spun around, prepared to scold her angel for sneaking up on her, but she stopped short, the previous song and future scolding dying in her throat. Her angel wore a leather strip over the right side of his face. It made her more curious than when he wore the white mask. It seemed less a part of him now.

She decided against asking him about it. "I do. Will you… play it for me? I assume you wrote it."

"Yes, I did." He took the sheets from her, and laid them across the music stand. He settled his fingers along the keys, and began to play. The song was breathtaking. It took her to a wistful place by the sea where she lost her scarf; to the countless times she was so depressed she could scarcely breath, and her angel's voice carried her out of her sadness.

When the song ended, her angel looked up at her, smiling. She smiled back, and walked to him. "That was beautiful, angel. What inspired you to write it?"

He paused for a moment. "You inspired that song. In your prayers, you spoke of childhood memories, and connections you had with your father before he passed." Christine nodded, suddenly teary-eyed. She averted her gaze.

"Father sent you to me to save me, didn't he?" She asked.

When her angel hesitated, she looked at him. He searched her face with an increasing urgency, suddenly reaching to take her hands. He gripped them tightly. "Christine, I have something I need to tell you."

Christine was wary. "What is it?"

There was another moment of pause. He seemed to be having an internal battle of whether to tell her. "I am not your angel." When Christine began to draw her hands away, he pulled her to him, standing to trap her in an embrace. He leaned over and spoke into her ear. "My name is Erik, and I love you, Christine."


End file.
